


step into the spotlight

by precious_red



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 02:57:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11175564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/precious_red/pseuds/precious_red
Summary: The superhero "Civil War" has nothing on the political unrest brewing in Wakanda.(filling in the gaps in T'Challa's life during and after Civil War)





	step into the spotlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full Disclosure: this was written immediately after Civil War but i was motivated to actually publish because holy shit the Black Panther trailer. Anyways, minor edits to make this canon compliant, but it's mostly unchanged. Namely, Tony and T'Challa were originally meant to be much closer in this, but the MCU seems to have given T'Challa's genius to Shuri so I really don't see what Tony and T'Challa would bond over.
> 
> That's fine though because Shuri owns my whole heart and soul.
> 
> Rating subject to change, maybe.
> 
> This'll be drawing heavily from Ta Nehisi Coates's run on Black Panther, so potential spoilers for that? 
> 
> Chapter and story title shamelessly stolen from Run the Jewels's Legend Has It aka the most inspired choice of trailer music of all time.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

T’Challa ignores the alert on his dashboard for a solid ten minutes before the flashing red light grows too distracting to block out.

“What is it?” he snaps, not bothering to check who the call is from. His eyes stay focused on the misty expanse before him.

“Where the hell are you?” an equally snappy voice responds.

T’Challa pauses, his single-minded fury faltering for a moment. “Shuri?”

“Yes, Brother. It’s Shuri.” T’Challa winces at the slight sarcasm in her voice. “The sister you left to run an entire goddamn nation while you are off running around playing avenger—”

“I’m not an—”

“You know I meant it literally!” she shouts. Perhaps it’s not the best idea to point out semantics around his sister at the moment. He hears her take a deep breath over the phone.

“So, where are you?” she finally asks.

Silence. It occurs to T’Challa that this is the first time he’s spoken to his sister since the initial aftermath of the bomb at Vienna. There’s something at the back of his mind that feels like guilt.

When he does not respond promptly, Shuri continues, “Do not test me brother. Berlin flight logs say you left three hours ago. You should be entering Tunisian airspace by now. Where are you?”

Sometimes T’Challa forgets how intelligent his younger sister really is. He’s the one who has been groomed for the mantle of king his entire life so most don’t notice the equally brilliant figure standing in his shadow. That’s their mistake, as his father’s advisors are no doubt figuring out now.

T’Challa’s hands falter on the controls of the jet for a moment as he examines the situation from afar for the first time. . The power vacuum left by his father’s death is no doubt already affecting the stability of Wakanda, as the various Chieftains attempt to wrest more power from the grasp of the Golden City. The Chieftains, however, will listen to their King. That is likely not the case about their acting Queen, not that Shuri will let that stop her. But the combined might of Wakanda’s political elite is a force to be reckoned with, even for someone as fierce as Shuri. Afterall, she is still young and inexperienced, not to mention recently orphaned. The thought shakes the doubt from T’Challa’s mind. He runs his thumb over his father’s ring.

“I am taking care of something,” he finally answers, his moment of hesitation over.

There is a long pause, as Shuri no doubt collects herself again. His sister has a famously short temper, something she worked hard to control when she was younger.

“A leader,” his father would say, “Never allows rage to show. It is a most effective weapon against those who feel it.”

T’Challa is supposed to be the calmer of the two. He smirks bitterly at the irony as he stares out at the fog of the Atlantic Ocean. 

“Taking care of something.” Shuri repeats, voice clipped. He can picture her, jaw clenched, eyebrows slightly furrowed as they always are when she is struggling to contain her emotions.

“I will not be much longer,” he promises, trying to sound like the reassuring brother he is supposed to be. His mind has already left the conversation, calculating what Stark’s mystery destination may be, planning how to take out the Winter Soldier.

“Is that so?” she says, tone judgemental. 

“I swear.”

She sighs, her voice a rush of static over the speaker, and T’Challa can feel the fight drain out of her. 

“Be safe, brother,” she says, and something about the quiet of her voice makes T’Challa pause and come back to the present. “I am not quite ready to be Queen yet.”

And after a pause, she adds with a slight tremor to her voice, “Make the bastard pay.”

* * *

When T’Challa returns inside, Barnes and Rogers are already gone. He makes his way through the Hydra base, wondering at the repulsor scorch marks and shield dents that pepper the pillars, before finally locating Tony Stark. The man is simply sitting, staring vacantly at the ground. 

No— not the ground. He’s staring at Captain America’s shield, which is lying on the ground beside the cracked and broken faceplate of the Iron Man armor.

“You followed us here?” Stark says, looking up, his voice oddly devoid of inflection.

T’Challa get a clear look at the man’s face. The streaks of blood are beginning to dry, his eyes are bloodshot like he’s been crying, still sporting a black eye from Berlin. He looks small. He looks lonely. 

T’Challa quickly schools his features to remove the pity from his gaze.

“How much did you hear?” Stark presses, after receiving no response.

“I heard enough. Zemo is outside, bound in my jet.”

Stark laughs. “You didn’t kill him?” he asks harshly. Perhaps T’Challa did not wipe the pity from his face as well as he thought he had. Still, he is too tired to take any real offense at Stark’s words. He understands all too well the kind of empty rage that Stark must be feeling right now.

“I am done with revenge,” T’Challa says simply, and Stark laughs bitterly again.

“Good for you buddy,” he says simply, averting his eyes. He rolls to his side, and moves to stand up, joints creaking and groaning, but the unresponsive Iron Man armor makes it too difficult, so he slumps back down to the ground.

They’re both silent for a moment, until Stark says in a very small voice, “Could you…” He trails off.

T’Challa understands and offers Stark a hand. He takes it— T’Challa would not have expected the billionaire’s hands to be so calloused— and stands up. The man presses his hands to two secret caches at his hips, and the armor disintegrates around him, falling to the floor. Some of it clangs noisily off of the shield.

Stark staunchly ignores that. “You wouldn’t happen to have a phone would you? I can’t exactly leave all this stuff behind,” he says.

He doesn’t want to touch the shield, T’Challa realizes. 

“I will help you collect it,” he says. Then, “Are you fit to fly your transport?” They both know it’s code for “do you want to be alone or would you prefer company right now?” Shuri would laugh and jab his side, accusing him in a teasing voice of having gone soft. That may be true. All T’Challa knows is that there’s an unspeakable weariness in his heart right now as he looks at the vibranium shield on the floor. 

Heroes. They’re supposed to be heroes. T’Challa is supposed to be a hero.

T’Challa expects Stark to say yes and deny the offered support.

But maybe Stark feels the same bone deep ache because he shakes his head. “Didn’t come in any transport. Just the suit.”

T’Challa can’t help the way his gaze drops pointedly to the shield but stops himself from asking where its owner is. It doesn’t matter because Stark picks up on it anyways. 

“Yeah.” he says, by way of answer. It wasn’t even really a question in T’Challa’s mind, more like an expression of disbelief. The vibranium in the shield was a gift from Wakanda to the United States, a sign of support for the Allied cause. Many believe it was too little, too late. Wakanda’s detractors called it yet another sign of the nation’s selfish nature. T’Challa knows that survival is never selfish, knows that only fools enter in wars that are not their own. T’Challa also knows that his life would be much easier if he paid attention to what he knew. But alas.

There’s irony here, he thinks as Stark begins to pick up the pieces of his armor from the floor, resolutely ignoring the shield on the ground.

The shield is supposed to be the sign of a better future, an investment Wakanda made in the idea that one day, they could join the world. The gift of the coveted metal is not one to take likely and yet Steve Rogers seems to have tossed it aside, leaving his teammate stranded in Siberia in the process.

Perhaps Rogers believed himself undeserving of the object. T’Challa finds it difficult to disagree.

“Ready for trip one,” Stark says eventually, standing up with his arms full of mangled armor, “Lead the way Your Pantherness.”

Despite the somber atmosphere, T’Challa huffs out a laugh.

The two walk back to T’Challa’s jet in silence, deposit the armfuls of armor, and head back. They make three trips, before everything is accounted for. T’Challa picks up the shield in the end and Stark says nothing about it.

They settle into the jet in silence, and T’Challa finally says, “I’ll drop you off at Berlin.”

Stark nods, eyes still vacant as he stares out at the cold Siberian landscape. A stunted silence settles in between them. That is, until T’Challa presses his thumb to the ignition pad and the jet hums to life.

The man straightens up and leans forward, inspecting the flashing lights on the dashboard. T’Challa regards the gleam in his deep brown eyes with amusement. He hasn’t seen Stark look anything but stressed, so this is new.

“No corporate espionage Stark,” he warns, flicking the switching to activate shielding.

“No worries your Pantherness. This is purely scientific interest,” Stark replies flippantly, keeping his eyes on the technology, barely acknowledging T’Challa. “So is this vibrational shielding right? The helicarriers use reflectors but one storm and half the panels are shot to shit. Vibrational shielding is so energy intensive though. I’m guessing you incorporated vibranium into the design?”

T’Challa does not have the energy nor the will to continue playing stoic leader and warrior. He allows himself a small smile, the first he has worn in weeks. “Yes but we also generate changing magnetic flux through the movement of the vibranium plates—”

“You use a magnetic vibranium alloy. Oh that’s beautiful,” Stark interrupts, breaking into a smile as well. “So you’re familiar with Wakandan tech design? That’s unusual for a politician.”

T’Challa’s smile grows more pronounced. “I am familiar with Wakanda technology, but not on my own merits. My sister is our head technologist— I’m afraid you’ll have to speak with her for more specifics, though I doubt she’ll be forthcoming in conversation.” 

“Aw come on, you’re can’t tell me anything? At least give me your sister’s number?”

“Believe me, keeping you from her is more for your own good—”

“—I promise I won’t steal trade secrets, honest—”

And that is how they pass the three hour journey to Berlin.

Not as two political figures, or two heroes, but as a scientist and an older brother. Right now, neither can muster the energy to be anything more than that.

* * *

Shuri meets him at the tarmac and, surprisingly enough, she is alone, not a single member of the Dora Milaje in sight.

He keeps his gaze trained on the ground as he steps out of the jet, expecting a strong scolding at best, but instead hears her say “It’s good to see you brother.” 

His eyes snap up to meet hers, startled. She’s wearing a wry and weary smile on her face, equal parts “Are you done now?” and “I’m glad you’re safe” and every impulse that T’Challa has been suppressing until now pushes forward. 

Shuri has the same reflexes he does, she sees the hug coming, but her eyes still go wide as she allows herself to be pulled into T’Challa’s embrace.

He doesn’t say he’s sorry. She doesn’t say he’s forgiven. 

They stay like that for some time, Shuri with her head buried into the crook of his neck, trembling slightly, but they’ve both schooled their faces back into composure by the time they break apart. T’Challa feels his heart grow heavy as he examines his sister’s face. She looks old— older than any younger sister should be.

“Thank you,” T’Challa says quietly, squeezing her shoulder slightly. He still can’t meet her eyes. She is so much stronger than he is.

She laughs quietly (wetly, though she’ll never admit it). “You’re welcome brother.”

* * *

To call politics in Wakanda at the moment a hellscape would be something of an understatement. T’Chaka was a beloved king and everyone expected him to continue being king for at least another decade. T’Challa, in comparison, is young and inexperienced. He certainly did not endear himself to the political elite by spending two weeks running around in the panther suit.

“If it’s any consolation,” Queen Mother Ramonda, Shuri’s mother and his father’s third wife, says at the debriefing meeting, “The people are fond of you. They share in your mourning and appreciate your loyalty to your father.”

It is something of a saving grace, but when T’Challa is dealing with insubordination from three different townships he can’t really appreciate it. 

“What were Lady Zenzi’s terms?” T’Challa asks instead, staring at the screen detailing the throne’s finances.

“She wants lower taxation on the gold and iron mines and better terms in the barley trade, and she’s ransoming the support of the Q’Noma clan.”

T’Challa curses softly and rubs the bridge of his nose. The Q’Noma clan produce some of the fiercest warriors within the Dora Milaje. Losing their support would destroy the country’s already deteriorating unity. T’Challa did not expect Lady Zenzi to take the drastic step of threatening to withdraw support for the monarchy entirely. At least there has not been any public insubordination yet. Just powerful men and women believing they see weakness and taking that moment to strike.

They underestimate the power of the Black Panther.

“Give her what she wants on barley. The gold and iron we’ll hold back on.”

Shuri let’s out an outraged scoff. “King T’Challa we cannot—”

“We have to give her something,” T’Challa interrupts, shooting his sister a sharp look.

Shuri continues undeterred. “You give her something and she will ask for more. Zenzi is not one to be satisfied easily.”

“It does not matter if Zenzi is satisfied or not so long as her people support the Golden City. The corrupt mine owners are the only ones who profit from the gold and iron trade— the people have nothing to gain if those taxes are reduced. And if Zenzi complains even after receiving extra food for her constituents, she will appear selfish and beholden to the mine owner’s interests.”

Shuri huffs and crosses her arms. For her, it is a matter of principle. T’Challa has dealt with more than enough principled men in recent weeks. He will not allow his pride to prevent him from being an effective leader.

His thoughts are interrupted as his phone rings. 

“Excuse me for a moment,” he says, slipping out of the room. 

“Stark?” he says, when he’s finally out of earshot.

“Your Pantherness!” the other man exclaims delightedly, “Didn’t think you’d pick up. Stark? Really? We’ve discussed jet design together— it’s Tony now.”

T’Challa raises his eyebrows. Mildly annoyed at the Iron Man’s informal words— T’Challa is still a king after all. “And yet I am still ‘Pantherness’?” he says, in lieu of a response.

“Details,” Tony says. T’Challa can picture the man waving his hand. “Wait did I just get the leader of the richest nation on Earth to say ‘Panthe—”

“What do you want Stark?” T’Challa asks, cutting him off because yes, he did, and no, they’re not going to acknowledge that.

Stark’s voice drops into a serious key, having forgotten about the issue of names. “It’s about the Accords. We’ve almost negotiated amendment privileges but there’s a hold out on the security council.”

T’Challa sighs. “China?”

“After the situation in Seoul last year with Ultron, China’s latched on to the Avengers as another example of American arrogance and imperialism. They’re not about to let it drop because an Avenger tells them to.”

“So you want me to publicly come out in support of amendments?” T’Challa asks. It’s a smart move— Wakanda is the posterchild of anti-Imperialism. On most days, T’Challa privately agrees with China’s assessment of the Avengers. But even T’Challa knows that the Accords, as they are now, are not workable. He blames the Avengers for many things, but one cannot easily disregard the lives they have saved. 

“Could you?” Stark asks. 

T’Challa sighs again. “I can, but this will only work two or three times before the developing world accuses Wakanda of treachery.”

“Thank you. Two or three times is all we’ll need,” Stark says, relief evident in his voice. 

“When is the next UN meeting?”

“A week from now. Ross convinced the UN to push it back after the Raft prison break.”

The break was supposed to be top secret, but T’Challa appreciates that Stark did not try and insult his intelligence by implying that T’Challa did not know about it.

“Alright. The situation in Wakanda is tenuous, so I cannot promise I will be there in person, but I will speak to Prime Minister Jingping.”

“That’s enough. That’s more than enough,” Stark says, “Thank you.” And he hangs up.

T’Challa turns back to face the conference room, where he can see Shuri arguing with Wakanda’s top general, Tetu. 

Getting involved with the Avengers is a mistake, T’Challa knows this. He has more than enough to deal with within his own borders.

And yet, as he watches his sister succinctly shut down the older man with a fierce glare, he can’t stop the small smile on his face. He can do this. He will do this.

* * *

King T’Chaka’s funeral happens three day after T’Challa returns to Wakanda.

“You’re going to have to go to the parade,” Shuri informs him in a voice that offers no alternatives. T’Challa does not want to go to the parade. Does not want to acknowledge that his father is gone. If he keeps throwing himself into work, he might be able to fool himself into thinking that his father is away on a diplomatic mission.

But Shuri’s voice is so weary—

“Everything is already planned, you just have to show up and say the final rites,” she had told him earlier that day. She doesn’t say that she was the one who planned everything, she doesn’t need to.

— that T’Challa simply nods. He is a King now. Selfishness has no place in his heart. 

But by the end of the day, T’Challa wants nothing more than to return to being the selfish boy he has always been. The pain and uncertainty and grief is so vivid as T’Challa marches silently amongst his people in a deathly silent procession that winds around the Golden City and ends at the gates of Necropolis, where only a select few continue to the actual burial.

T’Challa’s voice echoes through the black stone halls as he reads his father’s final rites and the previous Black Panther is put to rest alongside his ancestors.

One day, T’Challa thinks, he will be buried here as well. He looks at his sister’s unreadable face and privately thinks that she will end up here one day as well. She is too brave, too strong, to not one day take on the mantle of the Panther.

Shuri does not wish him goodnight, but instead walks to her quarters without a word. It stings, but T’Challa understands. His sister has shown him more than his fair share of kindness— she must be allowed to be human in her grief as well.

Perhaps that is why, when T’Challa returns to his own quarters and reviews the day’s headlines, he then picks up his phone and calls Samuel Wilson.

The full story of the Accords fiasco has leaked to the press and everyone is wondering where the Avengers are. The public also now knows about the Winter Soldier’s trigger sequence and there are international calls to catch him and put him back under the ice (or kill him, as an American pundit wisely suggests, before another villain gets his or her hands on the code) and T’Challa finally finds an end to his grief and emptiness.

His father is gone, but T’Challa is not his father. He will never be the same as his father, but he swears on the black stone that makes up the Kingdom of the Dead that he will rise to the same heights.

“I have heard that you and your friends are looking for a place to stay?” T’Challa says, without a hello.

“Cat-Man?” Wilson exclaims in response.

T’Challa rubs the bridge of his nose— the Avengers and their stupid nicknames really are too much trouble and he is probably making a huge mistake here. “Yes, it is King T’Challa,” he says instead.

“How did you get this number?” Wilson asks, his voice dropping dangerously. 

“I come from the most technologically advanced nation on Earth and you’re using a smartphone.”

There is a long pause, then Wilson responds, “Point taken. What do you want?”

“If you and your friends are indeed looking for a place to stay, Wakanda is willing to provide.”

For a moment, T’Challa is sure Wilson hung up. He half expects the man to burst out laughing, but instead he hears a reverent, “Really?”

“If I am correct,” and T’Challa usually is, “You will need a technologically advanced ally if you have any hope of keeping your friend from hurting more people.” Now that the entire world knows that the Winter Soldier can be summoned by just a string of words, Barnes is an even greater liability.

Wilson is quiet for a moment, and then says suspiciously, “Why are you doing this? You’re still Pro-Accords aren’t you?”

T’Challa smiles softly as he examines his father’s ring, gleaming on his finger in the low light of the sunset.

“What better way to watch over heroes than to have them in one’s own palace?”

* * *

“You are a complete idiot,” Shuri snarls, turning away from the motley group of superhumans to face T’Challa.

The ex-Avengers are, wisely, silent.

“They have nowhere else to go—”

“That is their damn problem,” Shuri hisses. “You owe them nothing—”

“That is true.”

“—and their being here will only cause problems.”

“Also true.”

“If anyone finds out about this everything we have done will have been for nothing. Our father’s work, gone to waste. Your legitimacy as king will be destabilized. Wakanda will suffer.”

T’Challa cannot pretend he is not hurt by these words, but he made his decision. He will stand by it. 

“Father would have wanted this,” he says simply. They both know that T’Challa is right but Shuri scoffs nonetheless.

“Father is dead,” she spits, “We no longer live in his Wakanda.”

“Perhaps, but we cannot give up hope of discovering that Wakanda again,” T’Challa replies.

Shuri rolls her eyes. “Clearly he was wrong when he claimed that he was the only bleeding-heart in the family.” Her sharp eyes are trained on his face, searching over his features as though she is studying a battle map. Her mouth is open, like she is about to say something more.

“You said you were not trying to be like him,” she says finally.

“I am not,” T’Challa objects.

She studies him for another moment, then smirks bitterly and averts her gaze. Turning back to face the ex-Avengers she says aloud, “You are too intelligent to lie to yourself, brother.”

T’Challa crosses his arms, about to object, but decides against it after seeing the set of Shuri’s shoulders. There is no convincing her here.

“Will you tell anyone?” he asks quietly instead.

She does not react, and there is a long painful moment where T’Challa thinks the answer will be yes. 

He breathes a sigh of relief when she finally says, through gritted teeth, “You are making a mistake.” And without so much as a glance at T’Challa, she walks out the door.

The ex-Avengers are silent for a long moment, before Wilson breaks it with, “So is she going to tell?”

T’Challa smiles bitterly at the door his sister left through. “No, she won’t.” 

Shuri deserves better than this, T’Challa thinks. She deserves a King who acts like one all the time, not just when it suits him. She deserves a brother who doesn’t expect her to back him up no matter what mistake he is making. She deserves someone better than T’Challa. 

“Thank you,” Captain Rogers says, bringing T’Challa away from his thoughts, “But if our presence here will really cause so much trouble—”

T’Challa cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “It will,” he says, “and I will handle it.” 

Rogers is a prideful man— the events of the past weeks have proven as much— so T’Challa half expects him to turn down his offer and return to wherever the Avengers had been staying earlier.

Instead he nods and repeats, quieter, “Thank you.”

T’Challa should have guessed. There is no amount of pride that can prevent a man from protecting someone or something he loves. 

“Come,” T’Challa says, walking in the opposite direction that his sister headed in, “I will show you to your quarters.”

“Then,” he glances quickly at Barnes, “We can discuss other business.”

* * *

“Let them try,” T’Challa says, because he is not his father, and will never be his father. 

“Let them try,” T’Challa says, because he is not his father, but he can honor his father.

“Let them try.”

And may the Panther help any who dare to stand in his way.

* * *

“The votes have been tallied. With a two-thirds majority, the Amendment passes.”

T’Challa sees Stark physically slump with relief from across the room as the delegates assembled break out into applause. Secretary Ross is seated beside him, and he looks significantly less pleased. He mumbles something furiously to Stark, then stands up and walks out the door.

“Well done, your highness,” W’Kabi, his second-in-command says, placing a hand on T’Challa’s shoulder. “Your father would be proud.”

T’Challa smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and stands up to cross the room. His phone chirps on the way and he pauses to look— his sister, telling him that Wakandan news outlets have broken the story and the more liberal ones are not happy about it. The tone of her text suggests that Shuri is not happy about it either.

He stares at the device for a long moment, hand tightening around the black vibranium casing.

“Well you look frustrated. Need a cat nap?” Stark says, popping into his frame of vision. T’Challa raises an eyebrow, looking down at the slightly shorter man.

“Actions my father could have and would have taken receive much more scrutiny now that I am king,” he says, putting the phone away with a sigh.

Stark nods and crosses his arms, turning to survey the room. Some dignitaries are beginning to trickle out, no doubt looking to give their two cents to the media as to why this is the Worst Decision Ever Made or explaining how they had a major role in negotiating the Groundbreaking Agreement.

T’Challa really hates politics.

“You did good. We did good. Having the threat of jail time over our heads for minor infractions would prevent us from doing our jobs. It’s better this way.” Stark says. He’s not looking at T’Challa, but T’Challa hears the sincerity and odd vulnerability in his voice. There’s a slight tremble there and T’Challa realizes just how important this amendment was for Stark.

He remembers seeing the chafe marks around the Scarlet Witch’s neck when the ex-Avengers arrived in Wakanda after being broken out of the Raft, and thinks he understands why.

“Do you think your former teammates will return now?” T’Challa asks, regarding Stark’s profile. He is on shaky ground now. T’Challa isn’t sure if Stark knows where the ex-Avengers are, but the feasible list isn’t particularly long and with the information Stark has, Wakanda should be at the top of it.

Just like that, the man’s face shutters off and grows stony. There are tired wrinkles by his eyes. “I didn’t do it for them,” he says. “Besides,” he adds, voice warming somewhat, “The Accords still have ways to go before they’re workable.”

T’Challa nods. Making sure that jail time is off the table for all but the most egregious errors— those borne of a disregard for human life— was a critical first step, but far from the only one on the path to creating a document that works for the majority. 

Then his expression sours somewhat when he remembers the news reports flying around his country decrying the new amendment. “The process will not be easy,” he cautions.

Stark nods solemnly, glancing at the door Secretary Ross had stormed out of. “No need to tell me,” he says. T’Challa imagines that between the Raft prison break and the amendment, Ross is not particularly happy with Stark at the moment. He thinks back to Shuri’s outraged face upon the arrival of the ex-Avengers, and the tone of her most recent text, and understands the feeling. Of course, his sister is still preferable to a morally dubious Secretary of State, so T’Challa supposes he has it lucky.

His phone buzzes again. Another text from Shuri, this one reading, “If you’re done playing diplomat, head home quickly. Your play with Zenzi is failing.”

T’Challa rubs the bridge of his nose. He takes it back. Tony Stark is the lucky one— he doesn’t have to run an entire nation.

“Duty calls?” Stark asks, noting T’Challa’s posture. 

T’Challa huffs bitterly. “Duty calls,” he says, turning to face Stark. He extends a hand. “Until next time, Tony Stark.”

Stark takes it, his face oddly hesitant, and just before he lets go and T’Challa turns to leave, he blurts out, “Wait!”

T’Challa raises an eyebrow.

He bites his lip, before saying “Listen, I know you’re busy with the whole King-of-the-most-advanced-nation-on-Earth thing and this is a little sudden but I’m going with a gut feeling right now and I’m about 2 for 10 on gut feelings so maybe this is a crappy idea but—”

“Stark.” T’Challa interrupts.

Stark laughs, and T’Challa realizes that the man is nervous. This is the first time T’Challa’s seen it on his face.

“Would you like to be an Avenger?” 

Oh. That’s why.

When T’Challa doesn’t respond immediately, Stark jumps in again.

“Don’t answer that,” he says, “Take some time to think it over. Think of it as a standing offer— when you’re ready just give me a call. And if you’re never ready, you don’t have to call.”

It’s a ridiculous offer, they both know it. T’Challa is too busy as king to ever play superhero. Still, he appreciates the gesture. 

“Thank you,” T’Challa says, honestly, even if he has no intention of ever saying yes.

Stark waves a hand. “Thank you for not immediately shooting it down. I’m serious— you’re one of the best fighters I’ve seen, mentally stable as far as I can tell, and it’s about time the Avengers went international anyways. I know you have a lot on your plate but just… think it over, yeah?”

And there’s something about the sincerity in Stark’s voice that makes T’Challa pause. His eyes, brown with dark circles, are wide and earnest. Maybe there’s desperation here. The Avengers are officially down to three members, with James Rhodes off on medical leave.

“I will,” T’Challa says. And to his surprise, he means it.


End file.
